Try something new
by Daria234
Summary: Neal's past as a con artist means that he's always 'on' and this has an effect on his relationship with Peter, even if he doesn't want it to. Some angst, some sexual language and acts. Peter/Neal slash. Established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Neal thinks about running all the time. Peter's the only one who knows it, who can still tell. He trusts Neal now, trusts that his desire to make him happy will overpower the _RUN_ in him. But Peter knows it's still there. Which means, Neal knows, that every time Peter asks if he's okay, Peter's also asking if Neal will still be there in the morning.

That's what some people don't get, the ones who don't understand the con, Neal recalls. People don't feel or think one thing at once. It's always at least four things. Fears, desires, ideas, sensations.

When Peter's mouth is on his, it's more like three dozen things.

And it's almost guaranteed that a few of those things are 100% crazy.

For example.

Forty-five minutes ago.

Forty-five minutes ago, Peter was slamming Neal's back into the wall, roughly grabbing at his shirt, wide tongue filling Neal's mouth, making his entire head move. Neal moaned low, and could feel the way it made Peter's tongue vibrate. Peter's hand went to Neal's hips, gripping them, tight, hard, like being trapped underneath a boulder.

Breathless, Neal pulled away. He managed to smile though he was barely standing.

"I love it when you're a brute," he said, licking his lips just right.

Peter had let surprise flicker across his face for just a moment before he smiled back. "I love that you love it," he growled and put his palm flat on Neal's chest to push him toward the bedroom.

_And it was a lot of things at once,_ Neal thinks back, wondering where it could have gone so far from where he planned. _It was Peter's hands and Peter's mouth, rough and beautiful and slow. It was the sandpaper scrape of Peter's stubble and the woodsy scent of bad aftershave. It was teeth where lips would have been nice. It was danger: this man could do anything to me. It was safety: this man wants me, this man finds me irresistible, this man will protect me. It was sewers: this just proves that I'm eager to be debased, that I'm everything blotted and small and stupid about the human race that Peter is against. It was new rain: Peter thinks I'm good enough, Peter the poster child of honest men and knights in shining armor, the kind of man who almost could trick you into believing that law-order-society is the same as right-good-true. And when Peter looks at me like I'm all he wants - even though I'm not all he wants, not nearly -- I think, this is what it's like to be beautiful, this is what it's like to be clean and perfect and good, and for a second I think that this is what it's like to be Elizabeth, but then I put the thought out of my head. And it was good. Because Peter's always good - hell, even Kate didn't do what Peter does for my body. And I could have just focused on the moment, enjoyed it, if Peter had just gone a little faster, if he would have stopped looking up at my face, reading me, even though he could see I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted the sex, but other than that I wanted to be left alone._

That's when everything had gone wrong. That's when the crazy thoughts somehow found their way to Neal's mouth.

"Are we done with the foreplay yet? I have things I'd like to do tonight when you're finished," Neal had said.

Peter looked confused. "When _I'm_ finished? Do I ever not make sure you finish?"

"You know what I mean."

Peter grimaced. "I've followed you for years and I still only know a tiny fraction of the things you mean," he said, and it was halfway between a request and an accusation.

The former was more disturbing.

Neal pushed off the bed, told Peter where to go. Being a lapsed Catholic, Peter felt it more true to his beliefs simply to go home.

And as Peter slammed the door behind him, muttering about not getting the answers he wanted, Neal felt a wave of panic that Peter was going to hate him, that he would be back in prison soon. And Neal _knew_ Peter, so he knew it was irrational, but the door smacking its frame was so much like violence in Neal's ears that for a second he thought of nothing but how he could run from June's place without Peter noticing.

Fight or flight.

Or both.

But Neal managed to steady himself, to rein in his desperation and his need to _Run!_, like so many wild birds.

Caged, but still fluttering.

Neal knew that Peter was confused. But Neal had no explanations, and if he thought for a second that a lie would have worked, he would have used it. But really, Neal had no idea. It was a bunch of little things. Peter being goofy at the wrong time, then Peter being demanding at the wrong time, then Peter constantly peering up at him, as if to check what's going on in Neal's head. It was too much and it wasn't enough, and Neal had just flown off the handle. And at first Peter had basically just acted like Neal was a spoiled kid or an eccentric artist, rolling his eyes, but Peter, when pushed, will always eventually push back, and then it was walking out, griping, slamming the door.

The thing was, Neal had never blown up at a lover before. And definitely never during. Even when he had been sleeping with someone he despised, someone cruel and revolting he needed for a con, he was all smiles and compliments and _Oh, that feels soooo goooood._ Even when it was someone who was openly exploiting him, someone who straight told him that Neal had better not offend, Neal would charm and coax and coo.

So why Peter, of all people? Peter who most of the time was scorchingly good in bed, who actually gave a shit about his feelings, who would never knowingly use his power over Neal to get sex and who would never use the sex to get power over him. He's the one Neal chooses to lash out at.

And now Neal was sitting alone on the terrace, arms wrapped around himself in the cold knife edge of the wind. Needing to be in the open air, where he could imagine running. Or at least imagine falling.

Neal didn't know much. But he knew something was wrong. And it probably wasn't something wrong with Peter.

Neal unfolded his arms, gripped the railing of the terrace. The cold metal felt good on his hands for some reason.

He tried to piece through what happened. He had been agitated lately, but right now he was furious with Peter. Absolutely enraged. And for nothing. No reason at all.

Neal pushed to the back of his mind the part of him that told him to call Peter and tell him _**sorrysorrysorry**_ and beg him to come back so Neal could suck his thick cock all night and make up for being such a bitchy piece of crap. But he forced himself to piece through what had happened. He didn't like unsolved mysteries any more than Peter did, and though Neal like to joke that he avoided self-awareness wherever possible, Neal also knew that cons who don't know their weaknesses get killed.

Neal tried to think back. What could Peter possibly have done that he wanted Peter off of him, off of his body, out of his room. He _wanted_ Peter hurt and confused and pissed off. It felt just somehow.

_You have to make this work_,Neal told himself. _You **have** to fix this with Peter, things could go so very very badly if he stops liking you._

And then it felt like he had walked into a brick wall. He was still standing there, gripping the terrace rail, bracing against the high winds, but it felt like being slapped without seeing it coming.

_I don't. I actually don't have to make this work. I want to. But I don't actually have to._

Neal felt like he could barely stand. _This._ he thought, _This is the thing that everyone else has. That makes me able to be a con but not able to be a person._ Neal kneeled down then, crouching, hand still on the rail, and a noise came out and even Neal couldn't tell if it was a laugh.

He felt sick. And he realized, that when Peter was doing all these things, he never once thought, _Do I really want this?_ And Peter kept asking, kept looking, kept checking, and every time, Neal had thought of the best way to make Peter believe that everything Peter wanted was the fulfillment of all Neal's most sordid dreams. It had never even occurred to Neal to think of doing anything else.

And in a wave of something that would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't already been halfway to fetal position, Neal remembered all the times he wanted to tell someone what to do, that he didn't want them or that or right at that time, and all the times that he knew that saying so would have a cost, would bring Neal less love or less protection or less maneuverability in a job.

And in that instant Neal knew. Why he hated Peter in that one angry moment, why he could barely stand to look at him.

Neal had always been adaptable. Able to feel - not pretend but really feel- the things he needed to feel to survive. And every time the situation demanded something of him, Neal had found a way to do it, and usually to enjoy it at least a little.

But now. Peter Burke.

The situation didn't demand it. Not really.

So if Neal was just the kind of guy who erased himself every time he went to bed... then there was just something wrong with Neal.

And Peter must know, must sense, that mothy space in Neal where there's supposed to be something, that space that in Peter is so full that even the people who hate trust him.

And if Neal told Peter any of this, Peter would think that Neal couldn't be trusted, that Neal is just a con who believes his own lies, whose moans and pleas are lies too.

Except that they're not.

Usually.

Probably.

Neal wanted to wretch or weep or scream.

He didn't. His throat, his eyes, stayed dry and harsh. He braced against the cold until he could admit to himself that this was real. The problem was real, even if Neal wasn't.

He forced himself to think the best of Peter, at least long enough to pull out his phone and call him.

"I'm sorry," were Peter's first words.

Neal wanted to ask 'for what?' to see if the apology was real or just good training from Elizabeth. But instead he swallowed, and said, "I don't want to see you any more."

A long pause.

"Okay."

Neal could tell even on the phone how Peter's brow was wrinkling in his strenuous effort not to interrogate him for whatwhenhowwhy. "I mean, we'll see each other at work, but I think we should not sleep together. I'm going to tell you something and it's going to sound more like a line than anything I've ever said, but I really need you to believe that I'm telling the truth, okay Peter?"

"Okay," Peter said slowly, and it was clear he was trying to keep his tone soft rather than skeptical. He mostly succeeded.

"I need to figure some stuff out. I don't know for how long. But if you're there when I'm done.... I think I might like that."

Another silence.

Finally, "Thank you for telling me, Neal."

And then another question, and Neal had never felt more like a coward, never felt more like running far far away as when he asked, "Do you want to keep visiting me anyway?"

"You mean as friends?"

"Yeah."

"Yes," Peter said simply. Neal closed his eyes and let out the breath he was holding.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"We're not sleeping together."

"I heard you."

"No, I mean, I don't want you to try. You could get me to change my mind. But I don't want you to. It doesn't make sense I know-"

"I heard you, Neal," Peter said softly, and Neal knows that a promise from Peter might as well be made of iron.

"It's just for a little while, I'll probably be over it in no time at all," Neal assures him quickly and then at once he hates himself for it.

"Or longer, up to you," Peter said, doing his best to sound nonchalant, "I'll come over on Sunday just to see you if that's good."

"Okay. We can talk then if you want to talk, Peter." _Please don't want to talk._

Peter paused, then: "If you want."

For a second Neal feels so grateful he wants to kiss every inch of Peter, to make Peter know that he's perfect and that all that perfect wasn't wasted on someone like Neal. But he swallows and says, simply, "See you then."

* * *

AN: Written for a prompt on livejournal (an insightful prompt I thought) asking for an exploration of Neal's emotional distance and the need to clarify issues of consent and communication in an established Peter/Neal relationship


	2. 5 things that built back what fell apart

5 Things Peter Said that made all the difference (and one thing Neal said that did too):

1. "No." The first few weeks, Neal wanted Peter back. It wasn't just the panic that set in when Neal thought of losing him; sometimes it was just heat and need and the memory of Peter's mouth on him that made it impossible to choose self-reflection over gratification. But Peter managed to say no, to say that he couldn't be with Neal until they both felt sure that it would be good for them, their relationship. Neal eventually stopped counting the times Peter had to run out, motion hampered by his obvious arousal. Eventually, Neal stopped accusing Peter of sexually blackmailing him into emotional intimacy, and they learned to lean against each other's body, warm and solid on the couch, without one of them feeling like they needed to run.

2. "We can do that." Whatever Neal suggested, as long as it didn't involve making Peter go back on a promise, Peter would try. Months after they stopped sleeping together, Neal said, "I think it's time we talked about getting back together someday," and Peter said, "We can do that." When Neal said he wanted to take it slow and he might back out without a good reason, Peter said, "We can do that." When Neal screwed his courage to the sticking place, as they say, and told Peter that he would need constant reassurance just to not feel worthless, Peter said, "We can do that."

3. "Cowboy up." Though Peter had assiduously avoided the phrase before, he used it once. Neal had managed to find a therapist who wasn't remotely charmed by him, and she suggested at some point that Peter join them to have a conversation about their relationship; after repeated promises of confidentiality, Neal asked Peter. Right before they walked into the office, Neal stopped, heart racing, and his eyes instinctually looked to the nearest exits. "Cowboy up," Peter had said. Neal answered, "Historically speaking, many cowboys were toothless foul-smelling murderers with syphilis and/or gangrene." Nevertheless, Neal walked into the office.

4. "You're right."/"You're wrong." Because Peter Burke wasn't interested in apologies when he didn't think there was cause for one. So Neal's attempts were answered by Peter: "You're wrong to think you're being stupid. You're right to ask me to earn your trust."

5. "Yes." Neal learned to ask a lot of questions. Peter knew when to say yes. Yes, he could wait, yes, he was sure, yes, Neal was worth it. Later, it was yes, let's try that, yes, I still want to see you, yes, I trust you not to run. For months and months, Peter said yes.

***  
1. When Neal learned to say, "this is what I want from you," Peter just listened. He knew that this time, he wouldn't have to say anything at all.


End file.
